I’m gonna write a poem
Every day next month
I’m not gonna write one poem
I’m gonna write a bunch
Deep ones, shallow ones
Probably all in rhyme
I’m gonna write some poems
Please will you spare the time?
Got locked up by the thought police
For something that I thought
I thought I’d be in trouble
For not thinking what I ought
I thought that I’d go down for years,
My nerves were feeling fraught
That my thoughts would all be monitored
While I was a lesson taught
I thought my goose was cooked
I thought the farm was bought
But the thought police sent me on my way:
It all amounted to nought
Staring absent-mindedly out of the train window, Jasmine sighs with all of her body. Arms crossed loosely, her fingers tap out an occasional beat upon her smooth arms, before brushing a mousy brown hair away from her face. A wry smile flickers, and is bitten away. She pulls her i-phone from her bag, fingers sliding deftly over the screen, looking up now and again. Another bite. Long exhale. Coming to a decision, she places the phone face down on the table, straightening the sweet disorder of her floral summer dress.
The stranger opposite smiled to himself.
He’d found her.
Poetry as therapy?
I like the sound of that.
Take whatever’s thrown at you
And throw a little back…
Recently, I’ve had a bit of a “disagreement” with the next-door neighbour. Nothing particularly interesting, or unusual, but it did upset me. My usual way of dealing with this is to stew and fester and chew things over and over and over AND OVER in my head, literally losing sleep thinking about it.
I play out whole conversations in my head – things I wished I’d said, things I’d say next time, things I wish I had the courage to say, things I wished I could get off my chest but know in reality that they’ll only make things worse… you get the idea.
I know that this is not healthy, believe me I do. I also know that this is far from the first time that this has happened. My way of dealing with everyday trauma and stress is to get locked in this feedback loop, thinking about it from all angles… family arguments, problems with the boss, being made redundant… these have all triggered this before.
I was determined that this time would be different.
Over the past couple of years, as I have started to write picture books, I have also written poetry. I have tried various styles, with varying results, but the one that I enjoy most is simple rhyming verse, usually with a comic twist. I make no pretence of high art, but it works for me, and the results are all over this blog. (For example, https://altheauthor.wordpress.com/2015/03/04/above-the-clouds-poem/ ) Hopefully you like at least some of it too. So, I figured if it works for me as a general creative outlet, then why not try it to deal with some specific issues?
When researching this, I googled “poetry as therapy”, and got quite a few hits. There is a whole mini-industry around this, dealing with issues of how we perceive ourselves, unleashing creativity, encouraging self-expression, increasing self-esteem, allowing emotional release, and finding new meaning through new ideas, insight and information. All very worthy, and worthy of further research if this is an area that interests you. However, I want to limit this blog to my own experience, and what worked for me.
So, back to the neighbour. I wrote a poem about him. It begins:
“There’s an ape next door called Martin”
Award-winning stuff. But that’s not the point. One day I may share it on here, but for now it’s just for me.
1. The point is to release tension, vent some negative feelings, and regain control of your emotions.
To take a common example, picture yourself stuck in heavy traffic, on your way to an important meeting with family/ friends/ your agent/ your dog. Whoever it is, it’s important to you, and all those other cars are selfishly wanting to make journeys in the same direction at the same time as you. Now, some may feel angry, and fantasise about suddenly having the use of a tank, which you could then use to literally ride straight over all those others cars who cut you up moments ago. Perhaps you’d rather go for the “Hulk SMASH!” approach to clearing cars from your way… or maybe you’d simply fret and worry about being late, and get yourself into a panic.
Stop. Calm. De-escalate. Go to comic extremes, if you have to – anything to avoid getting locked into that feedback loop of negativity.
“But I can’t write poetry, I’m not creative…” Nonsense! Kathryn Evans blogged recently that “You’re A Poet, You Just Don’t Know It” – https://mrsbung.wordpress.com/2015/03/10/youre-a-poet-you-just-dont-know-it/ – including the key point that you can’t get poems wrong.
Start with something small, and let it flow, having fun with language. Gently stretch those creative muscles before taking them out for a jog around the block. This poem is just for you, so silence your inner editor and let it out!
2. The golden rule (for me) is that the poem has to make light of the situation, to minimise whatever’s happening.
“Feeling stuck in traffic
Nowhere else to go
Feeling stuck in traffic:
Hear my tale of woe!
Left foot has gone to sleep
Righty wants to catch it.
My bum is feeling numb.
Do I dare to scratch it?”
You get the idea. Test the adage that laughter is the best medicine: try and make yourself laugh! You WILL get through that traffic eventually, so focus on the aspect of the situation that is at least partially under your control – your mental state – and let the rest of it go. Sometimes people are just late… the world still turns…
I have managed to stop myself letting the “neighbour thing” get out of hand in my head, and I think it’s directly down to this approach. So it’s 100% successful to date!
It needs saying that there is a difference between making light of things, and trivialising them. It all depends on the person and the problem. The “reach” of this post is aimed at daily irritations rather than more entrenched problems, for which professional support would be more appropriate (although even in that setting, creative expression is often helpful).
I asked a therapist friend to pre-read an early draft of this blog. She recommends a book called “The Chimp Paradox” – http://www.chimpparadox.co.uk/ – by Prof Steve Peters, a psychiatrist who has worked extensively in the business world and the sporting arena, including with the British Cycling team, Ronnie O’Sullivan, UK Athletics, and Liverpool FC. His book refers to the primitive brain responses – fight, freeze, or flight. In my friend’s words (I love this quote), “sometimes we need to throw our chimp a few bananas and give our prefrontal cortex a chance to chill and be more rational” !
Being creative, and positive, and downright silly can be good. Daydream a little, throw your chimp some bananas, and add some colour to your day! What have you got to lose?
Going back to our “stuck in traffic” scenario, remember that your car is your kingdom. It’s an entirely made-up fact that no one can see or hear you once the engine is on. So, air drum, sing a song, write a rhyme, pass the time… and arrive smiling.
“Thank you for dropping by
My office. Why?
Well, to give you the backdrop…
Someone here is for the chop.”
You could hear a pin drop)
“Droopy-drawers has dropped the ball
So now he’s heading for a fall.
Drop dead gorgeous, he may be,
And he’s dropped a size, agreed,
But he keeps on dropping off!
He thinks his nose is in the trough,
College dropout, climbing high,
(The penny drops. I don’t reply)
“Sucking pear drops, all day long,
Dropping hints about Hong Kong,
Shady past, dead drops for spies,
– “Are those teardrops in your eyes? –
“Dropped aitches to try and fit in,
Silly hair, strange drooping grin.
I’ve had the drop on him since day one.
I wish that I’d dropkicked his bum,
But the boss said to drop out of sight,
Drop off the radar, act alright,
Until… goody goody gumdrop”
(If I drop dead now, would this all stop?)
“He’s only gone and messed up proper
At last! I get to drop the dropper.
I’ve been working till I’m fit to drop.
Now I get to melt this snow-drop.
Drop him like he’s hot, or he’s cold,
Dropped like a habit, from days of old,
The bottom’s dropped out of his market,
‘Come, have a seat, go on, park it,
I need to drop a bombshell’, I’ll say.
‘You’ve dropped by the wayside, faded away,
Time to drop everything and leave.
Feeling confused? Time to believe!'”
(My jaw drops. He’s clearly quite mad)
“Chin up now. No need to feel sad.
Drop me a line if you do need to chat:
I’ll be there at the drop of a hat,
So no need to look quite so abject.
“We’re done: please drop the subject.”